This blog is a diary-type journal telling of daily happenings on the farm with family and friends. Feel free to join us at Woodsong if you are interested in rural life, writing, reading, grandkids, ducks, and other such everyday joys.

Thursday, November 20, 2014

There was honey on my breakfast toast this
morning thanks to son-in-law Rick Eiler’s first honey harvest from his two bee hives on a friend’s farm land. If I am not mistaken, the last time we
traveled the length of Illinois to see
Jeannie’s family was for Showtime during Elijah’s senior year at FreeportHigh School. It was wonderful to have the opportunity to
visit there this past weekend.

Katherine’s friend Laura was with her, so
I did not worry about Kate.
Granddaughter Leslie came up from Nashville
Thursday night; and she had invited us to go on up with her, so I did not need
to be concerned about Gerald driving that entire way. We had missed Cecelie’s freshmen
participation in last year’s musical, play, and Showtime, so to go see her in
this year’s musical was a dream come true as we hurriedly packed and left the
farm mid-morning Friday.

Leslie is always delightful company—funny
and bright and so pretty. Unfortunately we did not get to hear her sing during
this visit, and we should have insisted on it.
But there was much to talk about.
Her husband Mike stayed home with Millie and Sidney—their huge dogs
that don’t travel that well--but we
caught up on the news about them as well as Mike.

Mike is a personal trainer, and proof of
his ability has been seeing our little Leslie become a champion strong woman
competitor. (Is that the right
wording?) We really did not know there
was such a thing or such contests, but now we regularly see photos of Leslie
lifting huge bars into the air while we tremble. And we see Mike pulling trucks and other outrageous
objects with Les in the background of the video being his cheerleader urging
him on. Scary stuff to watch, but we
have to be proud that they somehow have achieved that strength in addition to
holding full-time jobs, an active social life, and fixing up their first home. And now to my great
satisfaction, Leslie has renewed her high school theater career-- as an extra
curriculum activity in the evenings. I love knowing she is singing and acting
again. That was not possible as a
commercial voice major at Belmont
with all the required concerts to complete that degree. She is rehearsing now
for Ragtime in January.

On our way north, we stopped at IllinoisState
in Normal to pick up Elijah who had driven there
from Jacksonville. He is a senior studying special education for
the seeing impaired, but his classes at Normal
are over.He spent the first six weeks of this semester at Indianapolis
at the IndianaSchool
for the Blind and Visually Impaired. Now he is rooming in a dorm at Jacksonville, but each morning he drives to Springfield where he
teaches individual students with sight impairment at four different
schools. Next semester he will be doing
his official student teaching at a Chicago
school, so I am especially eager to hear him tell of those experiences. I think he enjoyed being on campus long enough
for coffee with a friend while he awaited us to arrive from downstate.

Soon we were on that long long stretch of
Route 39 and 51 heading toward Rockford. It was good to once more see the familiar
sights along the streets of Freeport,
and soon we were welcomed into Jeannie and Rick’s house where there was a fire
blazing for us in the living room. We dropped off Lige and Les and made a quick trip to our favorite motel to
dress for Cecelie’s musical and then returned to be at Jeannie’s pretty table for chili and goodies before
we headed to the JeannetteLloydTheatre,
another favorite place for our family.

For twenty-five years Tim Connors has
devoted his life to the kids at Freeport High.
He has developed a fantastic speech program and manages to get amazing
results from the large casts he works with. Kids working together to create a
successful performance is an enormously valuable life experience. That bonding
and the artistic opportunity given to such large crews and casts of students are
of immense importance to their community.

Jeannette Lloyd obviously created an
educational environment conducive to developing individual talent and superior
high school theater, and Connors has continued the tradition of excellence. When
I see the stage filled with guys singing and dancing their hearts out, I not
only feel personal joy as I listen and watch as
crowds of girls run in to join them, but
I also know lives have been made richer because of those weeks spent
producing the show.

I had never bothered to watch John
Travolta’s Grease, so I was
unfamiliar with the plot. Since the time
depicted was not that long after I had been in high school, I was taken down
memory lane. Cecelie’s sweet tiny neck
scarf was the kind I wore most days; and although I did not have a poodle dog skirt, I
envied the girls who did.

In Cecelie’s role as Marty, her emotional
excitement and dramatic exaggerated take on life often duplicated the drama my
girl friends and I liked to imagine we were starring in. Of course, I loved her song. I wanted to slap
Marty and Rizzo sometimes for their meaness, and I wanted to shake Frenchy and
tell her to get busy and study. Going
from childhood into near adulthood can be a difficult time, and these kids in
the Grease sub culture suffered perhaps more than other
groups. I did not like beautiful Sandy, so well played by
Veronica Gross, changing because of peer pressure. But I would like it if today’s kids used a
wooden gun made in shop rather than a real one.

Brianna was arriving after the show to
join her cousins at the Eilers. She had
come home from MurrayState and joined her
daddy for the trip up to his brother’s, where he annually attends an auction
fund-raiser. She drove on in to Freeport to attend
Saturday’s performance. Mary Ellen and
Trent stayed home because of a trivia contest they were involved in. We waited
to see Bri the next day because we were on a mission for a forgotten toothbrush and special cleanser. We were in bed by eleven and slept late the
next morning.

Jeannie invited us for a breakfast
casserole and a yummy coffee cake at their house, but we like poking around and
eating at the motel’s big breakast available whenever you want to go the dining
room. Of course when we showed up at
Jeannie’s for lunch I sampled the casserole, and I indulged in the coffee cake
for lunch and supper dessert instead of the pies on her buffet.

Our Saturday morning schedule was to watch
Rick extract more honey from the comb.
We had already observed on Friday
the abundance of little bears and the traditional almost oval plastic
bottles filled with golden liquid, and Rick was going to work up yet another
batch or two in his garage turned honey workshop. It was fascinating as he explained the
process of scraping the excess wax off the racks of goodness and carefully placed into his stainless
containers to spin the honey out. There
were several steps as we watched the liquid go from the bucket of raw honey to
the lovely pure liquid in the plastic bottles. We were given a generous supply
of to take home.

After lunch, Jeannie and I left the men and went
on errands including a couple of trips to the beautiful flower shop on the edge
of town where Jeannie was having a presentation bouquet prepared for Cecelie.
Leslie was lunching with a high school friend to see her new baby, and Brianna
and Elijah were studying together for their respective Monday morning
classes. Our main goal was to see the
special thrift store that Cecelie works at and to pick her up at the end of her
time there. We hid her flowers in the van and took her home to join her
cousins.

Although Cecelie and her date and some
adult friends were coming to the Eilers after the show, Jeannie had a couple
large cans of cheese and a crock pot needing to be sent to her friend’s house
for the cast party that night. She
enlisted Elijah to deliver them since he is close friends to the two daughters
there. That led to the rest of the days’ entertainment because the mother of
the house suggested Elijah kidnap his long-time classmate’s tiny stuffed monkey
left over from her childhood.

There was much intrigue at the Eiler house
as ransom notes were written and Brianna’s unknown phone was used in various
communications to Fred-the-Monkey’s mama. While we adults were eating a calm
supper, Fred was off with the younger ones having his photo taken at various
places at the high school. At one time
he was hanging center stage high on the overhead electric sign Grease. I think common sense told them that maybe
Connors would not enjoy that addition to the set, and they took Fred down. But
the photo was funny.

Gerald usually only goes to one
performance per trip to Freeport,
but I love to see the second (or third when that is possible) and observe and
enjoy the difference in audiences and kids’ reactions. The last night is
usually charged with a mixture of satisfaction and sadness that makes that
performance special. That was true
Saturday night when I went again while Gerald stayed home and watched the
football game. Afterwards during the
time between the end of the play and the cast photos, I love seeing the kids
still in costume receiving flowers, congratulations, and compliments. They
completely fill the crowded hallway with their
parents and siblings and buddies. Alumni from previous years are also there to give them
greetings and hugs and report on college and work.

After the show the college set were out
for pizza and Laurel
was reunited with Fred. At the pizza gathering or else some where else, Leslie
and other theater alums were presenting Connors with a cake in the shape of a
juke box. It was quite a cake from the photos shared, and the crowd encircling
him and leaning on the table and accidentally breaking it down made the cake
presentation quite memorable I am sure.

By Saturday evening, the ground was
covered with several inches of snow and everything was slick. I was being
extremely careful that I did not fall, and I had Rick drop me off after the
show rather than going to the after-event at their house. The next morning we all met up again at the
Eiler house in a winter scene straight from a Christmas card. Cars were covered
with snow, and as we waited for church time, Gerald swept the snow off the
others’ car as he had ours earlier at the motel. We were worried about the highways, and
Brianna must drive part of the way home alone before she picked up Brian down
the road. So she went on and we were
grateful to the crews when we found the roads well salted and free of ice.
After worship we headed back to Southern Illinois
although we would have liked to have stayed for the Bible class Rick would be
teaching before noon. If at all possible, Leslie planned to pick up her car at
Woodsong and drive onto Nashville
so she would not miss work Monday morning.

On the way home, we lunched at Culver’s, a
favorite eating place for all Freeport
people. We dropped Elijah off at Normal, where he would drive onto Jacksonville, and we continued over to
Champaine-Urbana and on down Route 57 to home.
Although we drove through almost continual mist, some rain, lots of fog,
the highways were clear as we kept ahead of the worsening weather.

At Woodsong the ground was covered with
white loveliness, and again Gerald cleared snow this time from Leslie’s car waiting
on her. She reached Nashville
and was at work Monday morning. Brianna
stayed at their farm that night and made it safely to Murray the next morning.

Our weekend with its long delayed trip to Freeport was a much needed break from routine. Thankfully
everybody made it safely back home without an accident including Fred.

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

I thought it amazing that Deborah, a
friend from long ago, came up all the way from Nashville,
TN, to Marion,
IL, to help our daughter
Katherine be able to go to her son’s Senior Night during football season. Laura,
the friend’s friend, also came along to
help drive and to help out.

It is difficult for the uninitiated to
understand how much time and effort it takes to get someone from the bed to the
wheelchair, dressed and groomed, fed and given meds. Then, on top of that, trying to get out of
the house and into a van and arrive at a
specified time can often be an impossible.accomplishment. But with Deborah’s
and Laura’s help, Katherine was able to see Sam as drum major for the first
time in the pre-game show. We were so grateful to these two good
Samaritans.

As amazing as that gift was, the friend’s
friend later volunteered to come back up for a week to visit Katherine and help
her. She cooked healthy meals that Katherine raved about and introduced her to
the spicy substitutes she uses to reduce sugar and salt. She even left a couple
of her special salmon patties and banana bread in Katherine’s freezer for me
and Gerald.

I followed Katherine’s advice to use this
lovely woman’s visit as a respite, so I was only there once to visit while
Laura was. That day before she fed Katherine her evening meal, she spoke a
brief prayer of thanks. It had never occurred to me to do that when I have
helped her with a meal in her bed or chair.
There are usually any number of
needs to take care of before she can comfortably start her meal—finding
a safe place for the tray, adjusting her limbs, arranging blankets or throws, adjusting
the chair or bed to the right height, and so forth—and I am always fretting knowing
that her food is getting cold. Katherine never complains about the food being
cold, but I know she enjoys it when it is warm. But I
liked what Laura did, and so I resolved to follow Laura’s example, Yet when I
was there yesterday afternoon when the snow prevented an aide from coming, I
completely forgot once again. Maybe I can do better next time.

Laura went home yesterday through the
bitter cold and the unexpected early snow, and she had to sit for over two hours in Kentucky because of a
cattle truck that overturned on the slick highway. So her incredible gift of time and service
was lengthened and increased in difficulty even more.

How can you thank someone who makes this
kind of personal sacrifice to help another?
I can only pray that the God she loves so much will bless her with His
richest blessings.

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

How do you write about someone you loved
who has passed on to a better place? Although
Ginger was my younger sister-in-law, she was already in place in the family
when I started dating Gerald. She and
Garry were married when they were young, and they recently celebrated their 60th
wedding anniversary with her in a hospital bed in their living room.

Because she was so young, she was still
full of life and ready for fun times—swimming in the creek, going to town for a
barbecue, or just telling me wonderful stories of her childhood riding her bike
with her girl friend up and down the Ozark highway hills in Missouri. I never travel those steep hills
without thinking of her and feeling fear for her bravery riding there.

With us both being neophyte farm wives, we
were learning how to cook, to carry
meals to the field, to can, and to sew. (Gerald still had his senior year to finish after
getting out of the Air Force, but we lived in a small rental house on a rural
road between his parents’ and Garry and
Ginger’s homes. That first summer after our wedding, Gerald was working on the
farm there in the Mississippi
bottoms, and the first meal I ever cooked, I transported to the field where he was working. I thought
that picnic beside the road was great fun, and it was a complete meal—not
sandwiches.)

Ginger and I were together a lot that
summer and the next because there were home-made ice cream gatherings and
family meals at Gerald’s parents. Ginger
would usually take Mom Glasco on her Saturday shopping trip, so besides
frequent Sunday dinners, Mom would make us all welcome for impromptu cold cuts
and goodies that evening. I learned to
enjoy good cheeses that she bought for Dad Glasco. We enjoyed Garry and Ginger’s adorable little
blond toddler Vicki Sue and Gerald’s little sister Ernestine, who I believe was
nine that summer.

By that time, severe arthritis was
bothering Mom Glasco. Yet despite that. she kept a full productive schedule and
was there to help us and share their abundant
supply of garden produce. (I always wished our government would have
sent Dad Glasco to a third world country to teach them how he grew more than
adequate food. He freely gave food to many people besides his own family.) There was a huge bin of potatoes for everyone
in a large cellar below the backyard smoke house. Ginger and I got free canning jars by
cleaning out the unused cans of food in that cellar. Mom had conscientiously
canned available vegetables that sometimes was more than families could eat and
it had aged out a few year before. I
would feel bad thinking of all her work with the arthritic hands, but Ginger
and I had fun working together and were grateful for the free jars.

None of us had indoor plumbing that first
summer. (Later when Gerald helped Garry put in their first bathroom by using
part of the kitchen space in that farm house, they put up an angled wall that I
thought incredibly attractive.) Ginger had once lived in a Cairo mansion with three bathrooms during her
father’s heyday with grocery stores and other businesses. She most often lived
in Poplar Bluff
with her mother’s extended family nearby, and she and her sister and brother always
remained close to them and each other.
One Sunday afternoon she told me of the places in the nation where she
lived temporarily with various step mothers and siblings, which she would then lose after she had grown fond of them. I was depressed for a week just hearing about
it, but she was strong and resilient loving everyone’s good points and
forgiving weaknesses. Her experiences
made her very caring towards all children, and her strong sense of justice was
highly developed.

She was Intelligent and curious and liked
to interview people to become better acquainted. With my journalism studies
behind me. I teased Ginger that she should have been a reporter

In those pre-sonogram days, she had
theories about how one could tell ahead of time whether a baby was a boy or
girl. But I don’t think that she and
Garry had anticipated their twin sons who arrived six weeks before I had
Katherine. The twins were a cause of great joy and celebration in the
family. Because little Vicki Sue had
measles when the twins reached the five pound mark to come home from the
hospital, Mom Glasco took care of Vicki while I went down to help out during
the day with the twins. So Ginger
taught me how to care for newborns. I
have always been grateful that I took care of Kerry, and because he was slightly smaller, that Ginger took
care of baby Gary. We did not know then
how short a time she would be able to do that.

Six weeks later Katherine was born, and then
six weeks after that the seemingly healthy twins were at Sunday School and
worship with their parents. They had
barely gotten home when they realized baby Gary was in distress, and they rushed
him to the local hospital, who examined him and sent them home. Soon they knew the hospital had made a
terrible mistake and they rushed him back. For some unexplained reason,
employees had put away a piece of equipment that was needed without
repairing it. Although I do not think it
would have made any difference, it certainly did not make our family feel any
better. Baby Gary died that day, and
the terrible pain of grief was woven
into the fabric of our lives. (Years later at approximately the same age, baby Brandon—Vicki Sue’s first
baby—also died, and we had the worst Christmas of our lives.) So I rejoice that Ginger is now able to see
those baby boys again. I have no idea
whether people who die young finish growing up in heaven or if they remain
forever young, but I know we are promised it will all be good. I also like to think that Ginger feels how
much she is loved here on earth and knows how much good she did while here.

Her grandchildren, who called her Mimmie,
are all grown up now and soon the great grandchildren will be. But I remember
the first time she and Garry babysat with Shelley, their first grandchild. Our door bell rang and there all alone on our
step was this beautiful baby in her car seat while her grandparents hid around
the corner to view our excitement and admiration. But they were quick to reclaim her after they
enjoyed our surprise.

Although Ginger had health problems, she
never let it stop her from living fully.
As a child, she had been in a car wreck and hearing loss resulted. Later
when she went to the famous hearing doctor in Memphis, she found out that a tiny piece of
her inside ear had flown out. Her story ended
up in a medical journal when the doctor wrote about it.

It will soon be 13 years since Ginger’s
devastating stroke that took away her short term memory. Shortly before that,
she had brought me a lovely music box for a house warming gift, and I smilingly
scolded her since we had said no gifts.
But I loved it, and when she had the stroke just a couple weeks later, I
cherished it Earlier she had given me a music box on our
anniversary, and I will play these and remember the good times.

We said goodbye to Ginger way back on July
20 when family gathered at the hospital in Cape.
She looked so terrible with that mask hurting her face that I did not like to
look at her there in intensive care.. We were expecting the worst when the
doctor’s advice was followed and the mask removed. Instead she breathed on her own and went home
to the farm in a couple of days, where with the help of Hospice and the
continued devoted help of her loving neighbor Alice, who had helped Garry care for her all these years since the 2001 stroke. Kerry and Vicki worked together so well
taking turns staying nights in the living room with their mother so that Garry
could get a good night’s sleep.

The hospital bed is gone now, and the
granddaughters have cleaned the stored couch until it looks new. Ginger would
like the way her living room looks again.
Friends have flooded Garry’s kitchen with food for all the friends and
loved ones who continue to gather there to console him. The visitation with its crowds is over. Yesterday’s funeral would have pleased her with
a granddaughter who somehow got there from school in Los Angeles to share her reminisces of what
Mimmie had meant to her. The handsome
grandson in his dress Marine uniform who managed to come from Washington, DC,
and all the local grandchildren and
great grandchildren would have made her so proud. She would have rejoiced at Mindy and Joe’s news that they just found
out that Princeton will be having the baby
brother or sister he has begged for. And
she would have loved seeing her beautiful sister Lillian, who had recently lost
both her husband and their brother, looking so strong surrounded by her loving
sons. She would have loved seeing all
the nieces and nephews and hearing from the ones who couldn’t come.

Ginger loved the holidays and sometimes
gifted us with crafted ornaments, which I will hang on our tree again this year
but with tears in my eyes.

Sunday, November 02, 2014

One short road with four houses on one side and one house and one mobile
home on the other side completes the main drag for our nearby village of New Dennison. A church faces the highway and beckons you
into the village, which ends with a lower entry road that continues on to Marion. Across that lower
entry road is one more house and mobile home.

This is a historic spot, which many years
ago had a railway connection where people caught the train to Marion
and Carbondale. Once also facing the highway , where only an empty lot remains, there was the home
of the doctor who delivered many babies
in this area, but that house burned a few years ago.

Just around the corner on the village’s
one road was the small house of his midwife companion who traveled with him in
the buggy to help deliver the babies. A cousin’s daughter told me what a
meticulous housekeeper she was. Now that
house too is gone after the midwife’s only child continued to live there with
her cat until she finally went into a nursing home. I never found out what happened to the cat. I never met the mother, but I was acquainted
with her daughter, who never married. She got her water from a well, and almost
to the very end lived there proudly without electricity. They surely used oil
lamps in her younger days, but I never saw any.
Because she had gradually confined herself to one room and it was very
crowded with only a narrow path between furniture laden with clothing, I was
afraid to suggest one. I did take her one of those battery lights you can put
in closets or dark places, but I don’t know if she ever used it. She enjoyed a
small battery-operated radio and was interested in the Kentucky Derby and also
local news. A social worker or a relative
finally arranged for the Rural Electricity Association to put in a ceiling
light in her one room, so she did have electricity the last year she lived
there. After her death, a neighbor acquired
the lot and tore down the worn-out house and made it part of their lawn. It definitely looks better, but I still think
of Juanita when I pass by.

One of the more substantial homes on the
road always interested me because a favorite speech student of mine once shared
the story of his uncle who lived there at that time. He was retired from some much larger town in
another state where he served as post master, and Jerry explained in order to
have that good job, his uncle has passed as white. I never met the uncle, and Jerry died much
too young just a few years ago, but I think about these things as I pass beside
the houses there.

I always drive through the village and
take the rural route into Marion
when I go to visit Katherine. Early in
October, I was driving towards the house
at the end across from the lower entry road. I don’t know who lives there, but
I always enjoy their Christmas lights. That day on the front porch swing which
faces that road was a short man in overalls and straw hat relaxing in the sun. It was such a pleasant
sight that it made me smile, but then laugh when I grew closer and realized he
was a straw-stuffed man, Since then week
by week, additional seasonal decorations have been added to the porch and yard including a ghost by a tiny pretend
cemetery. Bright orange lights
illuminate the scene when I come home late at night. I liked it best when I thought it was a real
guy enjoying the fall air and beautiful trees, but I still smile each time I
pass.

I make a point of trying to absorb all the
bright colors of the leaves hanging on
the trees in such abundance right now around our lake as well as on the road to
town. We still have a rose bush blooming and few late day lilies, but very soon
the bare browns of November will erase late October’s colors and we will need
to adjust to a new kind of beauty.

About Me

I am the mother of four adult children and the wife of a retired farmer living in our retirement home on lake he built on our farm. I have always loved to write and enjoy having you read my writing. My book Down on the Farm: One Anerican Family's Dream is available now. Drop by the farm and I will autograph your copy.
Down on the Farm is a great gift book tht would be appreciated by young parents, who are struggling or enjoying rearing children, and also by older people, who like to ride down memory lane. I have been surprised that men have seemed to enjoy the book as much as women do.